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"What are you doing?"

I glanced at the towering demon wedged between industrial cleaning supplies and a tower of toilet paper. "Inventory!"

Azaren stared at me.

"You've been in there seven minutes."

"I'm being thorough."

A pause followed.

"Okay... Mrs. Daniels needs her afternoon medication."

"Coming!"

Her footsteps receded. I let out a breath. Azaren folded his arms. "Inventory?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind."

"You are a terrible liar."

"I'm usually under less pressure."

"You dragged an infernal hunter through two walls and possibly a ventilation system. You were not the one under pressure."

The dimple appeared. Fully this time. My attention caught on it before I could stop myself. His smile transformed him. Not completely. Nothing could make him look harmless. He was too large, too ancient, too unmistakably other. But for one heartbeat, he didn't look like the Terror of the Seventh Circle. He looked like a man trying not to be amused by me.

My heart did a strange little tumble.

I pressed my palm flat against the shelf behind me, grateful for something solid to hold on to.

His smile faded. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Examining my face."

"I am not examining your face."

"You are looking directly at it."

"That's generally considered polite during conversation."

"Your gaze is fixed on my mouth."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "It is not."

The dimple returned. Traitorous little thing.

"You should get back to your research," I suggested.

"And you should remain within thirty-three yards."

"I will."